We stood in front of the hole while Doris gripped my arm so she couldn't be sucked inside. I sipped a gin and tonic while studying the thing.
It was a wide square of dark green energy with black shadows curling around the edge. Now and then, it rattled with the sound of distant bones. The sound was meant to lure its prey, hypnotising them to approach.
Only Doris was strong enough to resist the lure.
There was a definite wave of unseemly energy leaking into the office. Its purpose was fairly simple. To snatch ghosts and swallow them whole.
I did not like this. Not at all.
Fighting malignant spirits was one thing, but kidnapping a gentleman's librarians?
Well. That just wasn't acceptable. It was very mooky behaviour.
I was glad I was wearing my battle robes.
"A Ghost Trap," I announced at last to my bewildered audience. "Venkman's, I believe. From The Ghostcatcher's Almanac. Not a very sophisticated trap, but it works well enough for its purpose."
"It's scary," Doris said, shaking a little. "It wants to eat me, Master. I know it does."
"What are you going to do?" Clover asked.
I sipped my drink.
Why would Reginald have wanted to suck the ghosts out of my tower? As a necromancer, surely he'd have preferred to steal my minions after defeating me?
My problem was I didn't know what lay on the other side.
It could be that my ghosts had been pulled into a containment array and were waiting for Reginald to return and do what he wanted with them. Or they could be with a member of his Order I had missed.
In which case, there wasn't much time.
They'd be working on doing something with the poor library spirits.
And, while I had no clue what they were doing, I knew it would be something I would find deeply offensive. Because that's the sort of dastardly things necromancers did.
"I suppose I should go inside and follow it to its destination."
"But you're not dead," Clover pointed out. "Which means you can't go inside Ghost Trap."
She was quite right, of course.
No ordinary mage could hope to go through a Ghost Trap without being dead first. But I didn't like the implication of her words. They made me very uncomfortable.
"How did you know that?" I frowned at her.
"I, umm, read it in a book."
I wagged a finger at her. "A lady should have nothing to do with necromancy," I told her. "It's a disgusting hobby."
"But you have a whole collection of books on it," she said, a little too defensively. "And you have a lich. And now we find some ghosts."
"Well, of course I do," I said, downing the last of my drink. "I was an excitable child."
"Child?" Violet blinked. "How old were you when you practiced necromancy?"
"Oh, about eight or nine years." I tapped my chin, trying to remember. "The Old Twit thought it might amuse me. It did for a little while. But trust me, Clover, when I tell you it leads to nothing in the end. Because that's what death is. Nothing. So, what do you hope to get out of it?"
"I thought if I studied dark magic, I'd learn more about curses."
"A sound train of thought," I said. "And one worth pursuing. But put necromancy aside. The only thing you'll get out of it is stinky robes and worms everywhere. And it's terribly unhealthy. You're welcome to read the books in here once we remove this ridiculous thing, but I hope you don't attempt to do anything with it. If you are considering it, ask first."
"Okay," she said, sighing. "I will."
I patted her on the head and smiled. "Trust me. You're a smart girl. It will make sense when you get to reading and you'll put necromancy aside as something useful only to lower grade mages and ten-year old boys."
She blushed a little sheepishly and leaned into my headpat.
"I want to do lots of necromancy, too," Poppy said, pushing her head towards me.
"You just want him to pat your head," Violet's exasperated sigh made me smile.
I patted Poppy's head.
"Master? I'm scared!"
I patted Doris' head.
Then, before she could say anything, I patted Violet's head.
She blinked at me and froze like a little deer caught in bright lights.
So beautiful!
"I have to go," I said. "The trap will only last a few more hours at most."
"Umm, you must be careful!" Violet stuttered, pointedly ignoring the giggles bubbling from her sisters.
"I will," I said. Patting myself down, I checked I still had my spatial bag.
So, cookies were there.
Doris tugged my arm. "Master? What do you want me to do?"
I knelt down in front of the little banshee and gave her a very serious look. "I want you to protect our guests," I said. "Can you do that?"
"Of course!" She balled her little hands into fists. "I'll fight anything that tries to hurt them!"
"I know you will. You're the bravest little banshee."
She flew back, her clothes ruffling as though plucked by a heavy wind. "And the strongest! Look, Master! I've been practicing!"
A ball of corrupted life energy burned inside her chest like a dark sun.
"That's very good," I told her. "You've managed to condense your ghost core!"
"Yup!" She danced in the air happily. "I wanted it to be a surprise. Are you surprised?"
"I'm very proud, Doris."
"Proud enough to give me another cookie?"
"Too many cookies aren't good for you," Poppy said.
"It's okay for me," the little banshee giggled. "I'm already dead. I don't need to care about anything."
"I don't feel sad for you anymore," Poppy pouted.
"Why would you feel sorry for me in the first place?"
"Well, you're so cute and little," Poppy said. "And I thought it must have been sad that you died so young."
The little banshee floated down and put her hands on Poppy's cheeks, squeezing them together. "You're nice! Will you play dolls with me?"
"Sure! I like dolls!"
The two girls giggled, and I shook my head.
I wasn't sure what I was feeling at that moment in time, but I was sure of one thing. When the atmosphere in a room leans too far towards the feminine, it was best to leave as soon as possible.
"Right," I said. "I'll be back shortly. Doris, please show the ladies around the library for me."
"Yes, Master!"
"Bye, Taran!" Poppy called, waving cheerfully. "Don't get hurt!"
The other girls chirped over the top of each other, but I was already concentrating on the Ghost Trap. Clover had been right. Only the dead could travel it.
But, with a little bit of void magic, I could bypass that restriction.
"Puh'ta Fran Gr'ohn", I muttered, feeling a sheath of void magic slide over me as I stepped into the hole.
I felt a wail as though a hundred ghosts whirled around me, pecking at my soul. Then something tugged. And I dragged through a thick soup of necrotic sludge that seemed to get thicker and thicker the further in I flew.
The stench was foul.
And I found it harder and harder to breathe.
In my ears, the wailing ghosts became a desperate screech and I could feel them flapping at my barrier like bats.
Suddenly, a light pierced the murky blackness and I was pulled toward it like a fish on a hook. I didn't fight it. There was no need.
I knew it would take me to where I wanted to go.
The thick sludge parted more easily as the light burned brighter. Then, with a splash of ectoplasm, I was spat out into a long cold room with walls of grey stone. Wheeling my arms so I could keep my balance, I was revolted to find the slate floor was slick with a with thin layer of ooze and chunks of offal.
Random bodyparts hung dripping from hooks which dangled off chains slung across the ceiling.
And somehow the stench or rotting flesh was worse in here.
But more interesting was the thick cord of life energy which was leading from the hole directly behind and up into pipes in the walls. The thick green cords throbbed like veins, as though they were pulling energy from within the portal.
Which was mildly interesting as that wasn't how a ghost trap should function.
I wasn't sure where they led to, but I had a feeling if I found the source, I'd find my librarians.
I took an unsteady step, my foot kicking a small bone which skittered into a broken skull.
"Disgusting," I gagged.
There were no places on the planet worse than this, I was sure.
I was in a necromancer's basement.
A surprised voice cut through my thoughts. "Oi! Who the bloody Hell are you?"
I turned my head towards where a hooded necromancer was standing next to half a torso, a blade in one hand and a grimoire in the other. Eldritch runes glittered down the hem of his robes.
"Have you seen any ghosts come through lately?" I asked, holding my hand about chest high. "They're about this tall, female in appearance, and probably very obsessed with romantic literature."
"What?"
"I'll take that as a no," I said.
Then, because I'd had enough fun with necromancy for one decade, I threw a fireball at him which melted his face off.
Which is exactly how necromancers should be treated by any respectable gentleman.
Of course, my fire spell triggered a defensive array which set an alarm shrieking through the necromancer lair.
"Hmm," I said, flexing my fingers as dozens of voices started shouting in the distance. "It sounds like I'm going to get a lot of practice with fire spells."